#poplitealqueen

The fact that Fili was wearing his hipster glasses, which he didn’t need*, became apparent as Thorin got close enough to make out the lads’ facial features. “Good to see you, Uncle,” Fili said, swooping in for a hug before Thorin could protest. “It’s been ages.”

“Ages and ages,” Kili said. “Work’s been so fucking boring, I thought I’d wander around the park with Fee. Not sure how we ended up here. But look, we ran into you!” His face split into a grin that would have been infectious at any other time. “How are things?”

“How are -” Thorin choked on his words and took a second to seethe before he made his decision. He grabbed Fili by the arm. “In,” he said through his teeth as he did the same to Kili, and dragged both protesting nephews through the bookshop doors. “You little - of all the places you could be, how did you -”

“We’re closed!” Bilbo shouted, sounding even shirtier than usual. “Terribly sorry, but we are very, very closed!”

Thorin dropped Fili and Kili’s arms and started off towards the back room. “Bilbo, I don’t care what’s going on in your head. I need to talk to you!”

“Uncle,” Fili said from behind him, “you’re being weird.”

“Who doesn’t lock their bookshop?” Kili mused.

Bilbo poked his head out from the office. “Wait,” he said, eyes wide, “Uncle?”

Thorin sighed. “Yes,” he said. “I realize this is going to come as a surprise, but these are my nephews. Bilbo Baggins, Fili and Kili Durin. Fili and Kili, Bilbo Baggins, bookshop owner.”

Fili, always the politer of the two, held out his hand to a swiftly-approaching Bilbo. “Charmed, Mr. Boggins,” he said.

“Baggins!” Bilbo sputtered. “Thorin. Nephews?“ If he could shoot lasers out of his eyes, as he’d long threatened to apply to Heaven for, Thorin suspected that he would have been discorporated half a second ago. “What in the name of all things good is going on?”

“You may want to sit down for this - Kili, get out of those books!” Thorin went to the shelf that Kili seemed to be interested in and scruffed him by the ponytail. “These belong to Bilbo.”

“Yes,” said Bilbo, “and they’re hundreds of years old!”

Kili pulled back and looked at Fili, who returned the gaze. By the mischief in their eyes, Thorin knew something terrible was about to happen. “So sorry, Mr. Baggins,” Fili said.

Bilbo folded his arms. “Well, see that you don’t do it again. If you drop any of those, you’ll blunt the corners.”

“Oooh,” said Kili, “hear that, Fee? He says we’ll blunt the books!”

And with that - although Thorin didn’t know how they did it** - they launched into one of the strangest songs he’d ever heard.

“Blunt the books, bend the spines, get a fork and break the tines. Chip the teacups and crack the plates - that’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!”

Thorin felt his jaw slowly make its way closer and closer to the floor as his nephews, his horrifically embarrassing nephews, made their way through an on-the-fly rendition of...well, he’d call it mockery, but the enormous smiles on their faces made it clear that they were having fun. This was what fun was for them. Where the heaven had he and Dis gone wrong? “Bilbo,” he said when they’d finally finished, “I am so sorry.”

“That...that was...” A vein twitched in Bilbo’s forehead. Impressive, seeing as he didn’t technically need blood. “Nephews.”

“Do you remember in the nineties, when you accused me of dropping off your radar on purpose?” Thorin asked.

“How could I forget?”

Fili broke his John Wayne-like pose and gave Kili a high five. “He was raising us!” he said. “That’s what you mean, right, Uncle? Mum had one-night stands and she needed help, so he’s like our dad.”

“My sister, Dis,” Thorin was quick to explain. “I’ve told you about her. She wanted to...get out. Of the business.” He jerked his chin towards the floor. “That.”

Kili nodded somberly. “The mob,” he said. “Mum used to be in the Mafia. She won’t talk about it.”

“Mob?” Bilbo echoed.

“Yes.” Thorin seized gratefully on the old explanation. “They just showed up. If they’re...seen, things could get bad. So I thought I’d bring them in and...”

“Well, you have to bring them out now,” Bilbo said. “Very nice to meet the both of you.” He made a neat bow at the waist. “But I’ve other things to do, important things.” His tone suggested that he wouldn’t be putting up with this much longer. Thorin had become intimately familiar with those cadences over the centuries.

He nodded. “Right. Well...boys, it’s time to get out of here and go back to your flat. You’ve both got work in the morning.”

Fili frowned. “You’re right,” he said. “Kee, we should get something at Starbucks and go home. Data won’t enter itself.”

“I guess,” Kili said, blowing out his cheeks with a rude noise. “Let’s go, Uncle.”

Thorin shot a last glance at Bilbo, who shook his head, and let the pair of them drag him out.

“I didn’t know you had more friends in the mob, Uncle,” Fili said as they started away from the shop. “Is he anything like that Hastur?”

“That guy’s weird,” said Kili.

“No, and I don’t want either of you trying to contact him,” Thorin told them. He’d had the heaven of a time hiding the boys the last time Hastur and Ligur showed up unexpected. Fortunately, the way Hastur smelled had kept them away.

“Hmmm.” Fili stroked his ridiculous little beard. “Well, at least this one has a job.”

He was right, and Thorin knew it, but the remark still got under his skin all the rest of the night. Almost as much as the Antichrist.

***

*Both boys had inherited demonically perfect vision, much to Thorin and Dis’s relief. Thorin dreaded to think what an oculist’s tools might see in the back of a half-demon’s eye. 

The mourners dispersed.

Some remained to offer their condolences or to speak of the man his father had been…but soon they too left. Death and Life were an eternal cycle. Death was not to be feared, for all things returned to Thra in the end. Rek’yr knew this just as he knew the aching in his chest was natural, but that did not make his want to alleviate it less. 

His father was gone. 

With all the grace he could put forth the Sandmaster returned to his ship and his room, the weight nearly dragging him to the floor as he closed the door behind him. In spite of his grief the Dousan was not so lost to his despair that the figure in his room went unnoticed. Exhaustion betrayed by his voice, he spoke to the one looming in the shadows. “Hunter,” 

“Rek’yr. ” Growled the shadows, the figure at last stepping forward, hunched over for how tall he was…the bones on his shoulders threatening to scrape the ceiling. “You reek of death” 

“How are you here Skekmal?” The Dousan was in no mood to entertain, moving away from the other to begin to remove his boots. At the very least he knew it was unlikely that he would be disturbed, the chances of Skekmal being caught, and thus causing trouble were unlikely. To his right the Skeksis huffed, tail dragging against the floor. 

“Easy enough to hide away on one of these boats of yours, easy enough to keep out of sight. I am the hunter, what would I be if my prey saw me stalking them?” Skekmal growled and crept closer…Rek’yrs quarters were by no means small but even still the hunter filled a good part of it. “I listen, and I watch…you wouldn’t believe the things people say when they think no one else is listening. Gossiping about a dying Sandmaster, and then you come reeking of death and sickness.” 

Skekmal was closer now. “It was only a matter of time and waiting, and then watching for the chance to sneak aboard once the ships turned for the wellspring.” The Hunter appeared as if he might say more, one clawed hand twitching towards Rek’yr, yet the Dousan stopped him. 

“Why have you come here Hunter?” Rek’yr met Skekmals gaze, turning with him as Skekmal began to circle about him.

“I go where I please.”  Skekmal raised a talon to tap at one of the many skull charms that rested on a nearby shelf. Appraising it before distracted by the ruffling of sheets, turning his head to see the Dousan climbing into bed despite the lingering twilight.

Turning over the Sandmaster watched as the Hunter loomed closer. “When will you leave?” 

“When I feel like it,” he replied, obtusely, and sat down. 

Silence grew between them for some time and the room grew darker as the three sisters slipped further beyond the horizon. “He was my father.” 

Skekmal said nothing, merely leaning back slightly, waiting for Rek’yr to continue. Staring at his own hand the Sandmaster recalled how weak his father’s body had become, sickness and age making every day just a little more difficult. “He was in pain and now he is not… he has returned to Thra… but he was all I had left…” 

Sharply, wetly, Rek’yr sucked in air and held his breath and when he released it his eyes were damp. Skekmal’s back had turned to face him and a new sound filled the room, the Skeksis was carving something but Rek’yr could not see what. “Hunter?” 

“Go to sleep Rek’yr.”